The Killer on the Heath (The Cassidy Newbold, Clairvoyant Collection Book 1)

by Karen J Mossman

  “He had used it for something,” I stated. Though the moss on the old stone floor slabs hadn’t been disturbed nor the spider’s web, I felt it. “I know he’s been here.” A shiver passed through my body.

  “Well, he passed by to reach the back door,” Seb offered.

  I nodded; that was probably what I picked up on. Satisfied with that explanation, I turned to continue my exploration only to hear a car pulling up at the front.

  “The keys,” my brother said, striding off to retrieve them.

  Roaming around, I began to think about the past. The war – World War II. Why is that presenting itself to me?

  Standing at the edge of the garden, I gazed at the sky. I imagined wartime bombers flying overhead. Perhaps that’s why this neighbourhood carries so many scars, I contemplated, it’s still marked by history.

  Seb returned with an old-fashioned key. He led the way to the rear entry. The staircase was lined by a metal handrail.

  I paused, nervous to touch it. There seemed to be so many ghosts from the past here, and I worried they were blocking my connection to Chantelle. Still… Could she have touched this as Plinth forced her inside? I wondered.

  Hoping to re-establish my psychic link to the young woman, I dropped my palm only to immediately lift it again. Blended with the essence of Plinth was the residue of so many souls. A sense of urgency rose from the imprints left behind as their panicked hands barely brushed against the rails.

  Chapter 13

  When Seb opened the door to Plinth’s house, the sour odour of rot greeted us. The decay was much stronger than the discarded plate bearing crumbs or dirty utensils left haphazardly on the tattered table. It bore testament to the filthy conditions in which the monster had lived.

  Though some areas of the kitchen suggested it was well used, others lay in disrepair. Paint was cracked and worn cupboards hung on broken hinges. This house had barely changed from the days of the war.

  War? I wondered. Where is that thought coming from? Turning, I gazed through the dirty windowpane, and something caught my eye. I stopped and stared absently, fingering the scarf around my neck.

  “What? What is it?” Seb asked, alerted to my stillness.

  “There’s so much energy… Something’s shielding my connection to Chantelle.” My brain spun for a moment.

  “Can you break through?” He stepped towards me.

  Transfixed, I was drawn to an aura hovering in the air over the yard. “You searched the back garden?”

  “Well, yes,” he replied, looking out towards the overgrowth. “You see what we saw.”

  The aura, like a wisp of smoke, was a presence, yet it was more than that. Something intermingling… “The war,” I blurted. Shielded… That’s what people did during the war.

  Confused, Seb stared back at me as if I had gone mad. “What?”

  The idea formed slowly as I mentally reached towards it. What am I missing? Moving forward, I focused outside and caught sight of the aura once more. It was like a shadow you could only see from a particular angle. I shook my head, unable to vocalise what I was feeling.

  “Cassie, speak to me,” Seb commanded.

  “I saw hands. I saw people rushing from the backdoor, holding the rail as they fled in panic. It was like images from World War II,” I explained. “But where would they be going?”

  Seb shook his head, puzzlement in his eyes as he repeated, “The war? Cassie, what are you talking about?”

  I knew I wasn’t explaining myself correctly. Something lay in the fabric of this building, in the stone of the walls, and everything that held it together. The ghosts of the past were overwhelming me. The question was why.

  Suddenly, a siren wailed.

  I looked up with alarm as the sound increased and froze. My breath quickened. The emotion of others flooded my senses – terror and panic consuming me. My body shook with their fear.

  “Cassie, what is it? What are you seeing?” Seb’s hands clasped my arms. “What the hell is that sound?”

  “It’s an air raid siren,” I gasped. “You can hear it?”

  We looked at each other with understanding. Seb never displayed talents like mine, but he’d been able to connect to me emotionally. However, this was something new.

  “Shit!” exclaimed Seb as he released me. His expression turned to confusion. “It stopped.”

  Covering my ears, I corrected him, “no, it hasn’t. It’s getting louder.”

  Baffled, Seb paused for a moment before reaching out to me again. As soon as his hand contacted my arm, his eyes grew wide. “It’s you, Cass. I’m getting a reading off you. My God, is this what it’s like?”

  “We don’t have time, Seb,” I reminded him. Yanking him towards the exit, I said, “I think we’re supposed to find an air raid shelter.”

  As we shot out of the door and down the steps, my brother said, “there isn’t one here. I saw the blueprints for the property myself.”

  I moved forward, not being able to see anything, as the grass and the foliage filled my vision. “There has to be,” I muttered.

  Suddenly, a bright spark, like the flash from an old camera, popped and the aura manifested again. It drew me to it as it had before. This time, I followed it. It led me to the coal house.

  A clear image of Plinth’s large body, squeezing through the doorway as he ducked to enter the coal house filled my mind. “This is it,” I told my brother.

  “But –”

  I cut him off before he could finish. “Trust me.”

  As soon as we entered the room, the air raid sirens stopped.

  Seb used the light on his mobile to illuminate the space. He began feeling around inside, tapping the walls and stamping on the floor. “I don’t know what you expect to find, but after that siren, nothing’s going to surprise me.”

  Dropping to my knees, I laid my palms on the cold, dirty stone. Slowly, I pressed my entire body against the ground. I felt the emotions from not only the war but something more current sift through the rock.

  A slight vibration, deep under the concrete rippled through my core. The grey of despair seeped from the cracks, spinning around me. I tried to concentrate, visualising the killer from heath here, in this place. Where did he stop? Where did he enter?

  Standing up, I paused to breathe and wrapped the scarf around my hands. centring myself, zoning in on what I knew was there. It called me, urged me to turn my head and face it. I could feel not only Plinth and Chantelle, but a faint essence of Mandy Smith, too.

  “Seb,” I cried, “Help me, please. There’s a different sound here. It’s hollow, and the air looks blue to me.”

  “You’re kidding,” Seb shook his head in disbelief.

  The entrance was well hidden. It matched the walls to perfection, dark and easily missed. However, the floor wasn’t original, as first thought, and once the thin concrete slabs had been removed, a wooden flap revealed itself.

  Seb jerked the door slightly open. When a few bits fell from the top, he had to remove a little more rubble before it came up easily. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, flipping his phone and dialling 999. Detective Inspector Newbold didn’t have to wait long before someone answered, and he was able to summon back up. Disconnecting, he said, “Help is coming. If she’s here. We’ll find her.”

  When Seb pointed his mobile to illuminate a trail of stairs leading downwards, he commanded, “stay here.”

  Calling after him as he descended, I replied, “Like hell.”

  We made our way down the steps before I collided with something on the floor. It made a hell of a clatter. “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “Go back,” Seb hissed.

  Ignoring him, I pushed forward. I hadn’t come this far to not find her.

  Seb shined his light toward the mess, and I saw I’d knocked over a lamp. Finding some matches nearby, I lit it. A strong smell of paraffin permeated the air and illuminated the tunnel.

  Seb turned off his light and pocketed his phone.

  We cont
inued across the short distance to another doorway, modern and reinforced.

  I stopped. Holding the lamp aloft, I was presented with three bolts aligning a door. The air around me fizzed with anticipation as Seb slid each one back with a clunk.

  My throat went dry, and I swallowed nervously. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and legs. I felt scared about what we’d find inside. My stomach churned as the last bolt unlatched with a thunk.

  The heavy door creaked open, then Seb strode inside.

  An assaulting smell nauseated me. Standing where I was, I screwed up my nose and tried to hold my breath. A vision of Chantelle appeared. She’d been carried here, unconscious, over Plinth’s shoulder.

  Refocussing, I quickly swept my eyes around the old air raid shelter. It had the remnants of benches along the walls. A string with a dim bulb glowed, revealing an overflowing bucket in the corner, the source of the foul smell. My hand covered my nose as I tried not to gag.

  Surrounded by an aura of dark red, I saw Chantelle. She was curled up in the corner on a dirty makeshift bed with screwed up blankets. Watching us like a hawk, her eyes widened as Seb approached her.

  Crouching in front of her, he said, “You’re safe, now. We’re here to help, get you out.” My brother’s words had the desired effect. “He’s not coming back.”

  I noticed how my brother was careful not to touch Chantelle. His cautious movements told me that he didn’t want to startle her. Neither of us wanted to make her any more frightened than she already was.

  Just then, we heard shouts from above. Not long after came the clutter of footsteps thundering down the stairwell. Our backup has arrived.

  Chantelle cringed, collapsing in on herself.

  Instinctually, I dropped beside her. “He’s not coming back, Chantelle.” I soothed. “You’re safe. Those are people here to help.” Tentatively, I reached out, unsure if I should touch her.

  To my surprise, Chantelle clung to me. Blocking my empathic connection, I found myself embracing her back. “I promise he’ll never hurt you again. You’re safe.”

  The grey surrounding us turned to lilac – hope.

  Chapter 14

  A butterfly landed on a leaf near to where I sat on a bench at the edge of the cliff. The view of the town from Lowhampton Heath, surrounded by fields, laid out in front of me like a landscape painting. The clear azure sky above and the way the morning sunlight reflected off the greenery were beautiful. It fed my soul.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly while watching another butterfly flutter lazily past. Despite spending several days in bed, I still felt drained. It wasn’t often I encountered the type of darkness that lived in David Plinth. As my eyes settled on the horizon, I knew he’d changed me forever.

  My heart ached for Chantelle Parslow. The way Plinth used her life as a reward for her compliance gave him great delight. The violation he perpetrated on her was the stuff of nightmares. It made what he did to me pale by comparison.

  I considered how and why people could be so cruel to each other. When I’d asked Seb, he’d said, “Not everyone’s wired the same. Some people think what they’re doing is okay.”

  “How is that possible?” I’d asked him.

  “Take Plinth,” he continued, “being brought up by parents who didn’t give a damn and mistreated him set the stage for the man he’d become. He didn’t have a proper standard to compare to, and the power he enjoyed only reaffirmed his beliefs.”

  Sitting in the warmth didn’t stop me from shivering. I wasn’t sure I agreed with Seb. Maybe I just didn’t really understand, but then, I’m different, too. People rarely understand me, yet I don’t hurt anyone.

  As I considered my brother’s words a shadow fell over me. I squinted into the sunlight, using my hand to shield my eyes. Without the brightness blocking my view, I clearly saw the beautiful face of Pedro.

  He sat next to me and took my hand from the bench between us, holding it in his lap. When he turned to me, I saw the emotional toll from the last few weeks etched into his face. It seemed to have aged him.

  “How’s Chantelle?” I asked. Physically, I knew she’d recover. Her emotional scars, however, would take a lot longer – assuming they’d heal at all.

  Pedro shrugged, saying nothing for a moment. When he finally did, sadness filled his voice, “Mama has a new favourite child. Not that I mind. Chantelle needs all the love and care we can give her. My sister deserves that.”

  I could feel the gentle pressure of his fingers clasped around mine.

  “That’s a good thing, and you need your freedom, Pedro.” I watched his face, his profile. “You need to live your life without always being accountable to your mother.”

  He let go of my hand and smiled sadly. “Just too late for us, eh?”

  I sighed. “There are too many other things. I’m not what you want, any more than what you need.” I smiled kindly at him. “You’re a good man, but you need to get yourself a life – date, go out with friends, and make the most of what you find.”

  Pedro gazed at the ground, and though he was sad, he appeared resolute.

  “Chantelle needs you as much as your mother, now more than ever before. Freedom doesn’t mean dismissing them. It means finding your balance.”

  He turned to look at me again and put his palm against my cheek in an affectionate gesture. “I’ll always be grateful to you, Cassie. You helped our family. You’ve helped me.”

  Pedro stood up. Bending down, he gently kissed me on the cheek. With that final goodbye, he walked away.

  The End

  THANK YOU

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for taking time to read The Killer On The Heath. If you enjoyed this story, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review. There is nothing more valuable to an author than the praise of their readers. Your time and support are greatly appreciated!

  About The Author

  Karen J. Mossman

  Karen J Mossman loves stories. “They are all around us, every day, they weave themselves into our lives. Because, stories are not always fiction.’

  On the Magic of Stories website, Karen shares some of her own and from her favourite authors. www.karenjmossman.com

  She lives on the small island of Anglesey, just off the north Wales coast with her husband, and two dogs, a Yorkshire terrier called Tilly, and a King Charlies Cavalier Spaniel, called Meggy, who was rescued from a puppy farm.

  She posts regularly about her dogs and Anglesey on her Facebook page. www.facebook.com/karensmagicofstories

  Join Karen on the Norns Triad Publications’ newsletter to find great deals on ebooks, share book reviews with other bibliophiles, and enjoy interesting blog reads.

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  Books By This Author

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  A devastated king and queen must end the search for their lost child. From his turreted castle on a high hill, the king copes by playing his lament for the whole village to hear. People come from far and wide to witness his emotional performances on the pianoforte.

  Though the sound is profound for everyone, it’s magical for one young pauper. Jorge doesn’t just hear it, he sees the crochet, clefts, and minions as they fall from the sky. As he grows, so does the lure of the mystical music, which buries itself deep in his soul.

  Unable to resist any longer, Jorge and his betrothed make a trip to the palace to watch the king play. What he discovers there will change his life forever.

  This is a fairy tale to delight modern readers.

 

 

 
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